More than good enough

I remember the first time that I thought that I wasn't good enough. I was in fifth grade and the teacher had asked for three volunteers to make three different journals for some kind of class project. I raised my hand, probably with a huge, excited grin on my face. I loved making things.

I got home that afternoon and began to search the house for cool things that I could use to make my journal. I found some strong cardboard for the covers in my dad's studio, and some awesome fourth of July fabric from my mom's closet to cover the cardboard with. I punched holes in the cardboard after gluing on fabric, then found some ribbon to tie the covers and pages together. The result was a thin, but sturdy, notebook-sized journal. I even tied the end of the ribbon around the end of the pen so that you would never lose the pen. I was so proud.

I couldn't wait to show my journal to the class. I was sure that they would love it. I probably even imagined all of the great things that they would say about it, and how happy they would be because of what I had created. When I got to class that morning, the two other girls already had their journals out. My heart sank when I saw them.

They were beautiful: nice and thick with soft, stuffed, beautifully embroidered covers. One of them even had lace. I felt…bad. My stomach churned and my eyes fell to the ground as I realized that my journal looked small and ugly compared to these two, handmade gems; it looked like garbage.

Then my teacher and classmates asked me where mine was. I felt a pang of regret and shame as I considered what everyone would think when they saw mine; suddenly the things I imagined my classmates saying about my journal were quite different. So I lied. I told them that I didn't make one: that I forgot. After an awkward pause, the teacher asked if one of the other girls moms would want to help her make another journal. Rachel happily accepted.

Nothing could peel my eyes off of my feet. I hated my stupid journal…

Later that day, a pair of my friends got my to confess that I had made a journal. I reluctantly showed it to them. They thought it sucked.

What I had to offer was not good enough: my creativity and enthusiasm didn't cut it. Somehow, I unknowingly came to the conclusion that I wasn't good enough, and that mentality stuck with me as I grew; the lie only growing larger and deeper.

God is the one who reminded me of this event. I had no memory of it until he gently brought it up. I cried as I relived the pain and embaressment. I cried even more when God told me what He thought of my journal. He said He loved it. He loved my creativity. He loved my enthusiasm. He loved me and was totally and completely delighted with my creation and the heart behind it. He would have framed my little journal and hung it on the wall in the most public room of his house, just so that He could brag about me when people asked about it.

Man does that wreck me. I crumble whenever I think about it His wild, enthusiastic, boundless and unconditional love for me. What I do is more than good enough—I am always good enough. Ah! It almost too much to take sometimes.

Thank you for you love, God; Papa. I don't understand it. Please wash truth over my mind, heart and spirit. I function out such a weave of lies. I want to be confident in the truth about myself, and about your character. You are so good. I love you. :-)